


Rich Boy, Poor Boy

by thatloserholly



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Friendship, I got my inspiration from a christmas carol lmao, M/M, Victorian era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-13 04:47:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15356577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatloserholly/pseuds/thatloserholly
Summary: a one shot :) i was gonna make it into a whole book but eh i’m too lazy and have no ideas.i got inspiration from ‘a christmas carol’ because we were studying it in english class at the time.anyway, i hope you all enjoy!





	Rich Boy, Poor Boy

The city seemed to always be cold to Gerard. The cold was a straight jacket, encasing him and making him shiver and quiver. The cool air blew around the bare bottoms of his legs where his shorts cut off and, although he wore a long sleeved shirt, it was very thin and worn out, and the arms were a little too short where he had grown out of it over time. No matter how hard the poor boy tried, he just could not get warm. His mother was trying her upmost to get him something new to wear, but she could not find the money, since the factory paid her a pitiful amount, even for the hours she worked.

The fifteen year old was unclean and ratty, with long black hair that was knotty and in need of a trim. A worn brown cap was placed atop of it, hiding some of the rodent's nest that was his hair. Gerard was a little on the chubby side, even though he only ate in pathetic quantities. His mother told him it was puppy fat, and that it suited him very well. 

Gerard lived in a small, cramped little home in the 'scummy' parts of London, as people liked to call it, quite close to where the posh, rich people lived. There was no glass left in the windows - it had all chipped away over time and the local little boys had been kicking their footballs at the wall, and they had smashed it. The front door had a large hole in it, meaning the chilly, smoggy air was free to flow through the room. It was barely even a house. It was more like a shed. 

The shed had just three rooms - a downstairs room and two upstairs rooms. There was a single bed in each of the rooms, one for each family. There was another family, along with Gerard, his younger brother Michael and their mother. The other family consisted of a mother and her four children. Gerard knew not what their names were, for they had not been living there for long, and he had forgotten after his mother had told him before. The other family had been sent to the workhouse - poor buggers. None of them worked, so the government kicked them out and sent them off to be separated and forced to work.

The bed had a thin mattress with springs sticking out all over the place, yet the three still managed to sleep there. There were grimy curtains draped across a rusty bar, only just clutching the wall. There was one blanket that the family shared, and it was awfully thin and filthy. Freezing was a common occurrence for them, especially in the harsh winters, when the snow would blow in through the missing window and the planks of wood boarded over the hole.

They didn't even have a toilet. There was a yard outside, and that was the closest thing they had to a toilet. It was particularly uncomfortable when it was raining and freezing to go outside and do your business. It was like a thousand piranhas nipping away at you. 

Long story short: being poor was awful. Both Gerard and Michael - or Mikey as people called him - worked in a factory. The machines were dangerous and there were rumors of people being killed by them. Mikey was missing his little finger and his ring finger, after they got caught in a contraption as he was working. However he still continued to work. He worked in a different factory than Gerard, so they only really saw each other at night; Mikey left earlier than him in the mornings and he worked longer days - six o'clock in the morning until nine o'clock at night, while Gerard worked from seven thirty 'til eight.

They were both lucky with the times they worked - some children worked from four in the morning to very late hours at night. The boys always felt sorry for them.

As Gerard walked home from the factory at night, he trudged under the dim streetlights along the border of where the rich met the poor. On some occasions, snobs had looked at him disgustedly or spoken to him rudely. However being spoken to was very rare, as the rich would find it terribly embarrassing to be seen talking to a penniless boy such as himself.

Curiously, he would sometimes look over the black metal fences at the glorious houses on the other side, with their perfectly trimmed garden plants and neatly polished windows. He always dreamed of living in homes you could get lost in, with hundreds of rooms with no set purpose. Huge feasts for dinner every night, oh! How lovely it would be! But he knew his fantasies could never become reality, so he would just keep walking on home, just to sleep then work again. 

On one particular day, though, when the weather was a little clearer and warmer than usual and the sky was still fairly light, his nosiness got the best of him, and that's where our tale begins. As he passed by the familiar black gate on his dreary way home, he found it to be open and calling to him. 'Come, boy!' it beckoned, 'come through here! There is much to be seen!' 

He pondered a little, first. It was likely he would get caught and either sent home, or worse, thrown in jail. And he certainly did not want that to happen, what would his poor mother think? And Mikey? And whatever-she's-called that lives with them in the shed? Gerard was sure they'd think he was barmier than a drunken chimpanzee.

But something in his mind decided to abandon those ideas and he found himself pushing gently on the gate, slipping through to the other side, where he felt rebellious and disobedient to society's rules. It was all very dangerous but also very stimulating for him - nothing this exciting had happened to him in a long time, or ever, in fact. 

Mooching through the well-kept, ordered streets, he gazed in awe at the size of the incredible houses. They must have all been three or four stories high, and probably had the hundred rooms with no use that Gerard kept dreaming of. One particular house caught his eye. It was tucked away neatly on the corner of the street, two street lamps sitting erect in front of it. It had smart little bushes lining the cobbled path that led to the front door, like a path to heaven. The house was made of red bricks with well decorated glass windows, surrounded with white trimming and adornment. The abode truly was gorgeous.

Gerard continued around the corner, where he was grateful to find a clean, comfortable looking bench where he could rest for a brief moment. He settled himself down, relaxing into the rounded shape of the seat. Deciding it would be pleasant to stay there for a while, he placed his grubby hands in his lap and admired his surroundings some more. The quiet was soothing, and so Gerard watched the day go by as the daylight began to become dimpsy.

Meanwhile, in the pulchritudinous home on the corner of the street, another young boy sat in one of three living rooms in his house. Fire flickered in the ornate fireplace under the mantelpiece littered with ornaments and objects of meaning, and a detailed family portrait hung in an elegant golden frame. The room was warm and welcoming - a perfect place to lounge around and read a book on the soft, velvety blue sofa or in the blanket-covered rocking chair.

His home was full of things like that. There were so many rooms in his home and each one was decorated with the most glamourous furnishings made of the finest of fabrics and materials. Polished wood, velvet, gold and silver, you name it, the house probably had it. Even the bathroom was astonishingly beautiful. The countertops and bathtub were made of exquisite white marble and the mirror on the wall was lined with a silver frame.

The boy was well decorated, too. His jet black hair was neatly combed and clean, and he wore a tidy white shirt under a black jumper with large white buttons and the white collar of his shirt stuck out over the top. He wore black shorts, sitting just above his knees, and knee length black socks. The boy was very dressed up, even on a regular day. He would be dressed in his finest suit when he would have his photograph with his parents or when he greeted his father or when he went out with the family.

Frank Anthony Iero Junior was the fourteen year old son of a wealthy businessman who owned a collection of factories, thus making him and his family very rich. His life was privileged and he was treated like a prince by everyone who visited the household for meetings and dinner parties. Most children his age would go to school, but Frank's parents insisted he be taught at home by a private tutor. They wanted the best for him, and they believed school was not the best.

However, it was rare that Frank saw his parents. He saw his mother at mealtimes only, and he only ever saw his father once a week for Sunday lunch. Apart from that, he only ever saw them on special occasions, and was cared for by the maids of the house and his nanny, Ethel. She was a very caring lady and had been looking after the boy since his birth. She knew Frank better than his own parents did, and probably cared for him a damn sight more than they did. She cared for him as if he was her own son.

Frank sat with Ethel in the living room on that evening and read his book. It was very interesting and he very much was pleased with the message that the author was conveying. The story was also very enjoyable - he liked the idea of the spirits and the Christmas theme. The author obviously wanted change in the world, and Frank agreed - change was needed to make things better for people, however, his father would disagree and probably be disappointed if Frank told him that he agreed with the message. Though, Frank had never actually met a poor person. He had seen them on the streets from the safety of his horse and carriage on trips out, but never actually met them.

From what his father had told him, he should probably avoid them, as to not disappoint or embarrass his family.

Sleepy and full from his meal earlier, Frank rose from his spot, slipping his bookmark into his novel. He fancied a walk - to get some air. It wasn't often that Frank went for walks, since the city air was quite smoggy and dirty and probably not good for his health, and Ethel did not want him to be pickpocketed or to get hurt. But on this occasion, she said that he may walk, for it was lighter and poor scoundrels rarely dared to come onto the street. And Frank was getting older; he needed time to himself and could care for himself perfectly well.

She told him that he must be careful and that he must come home when it is completely dark, to which he nodded his head and headed out into the foyer of the house, where he put on his shoes - only just polished by one of the maids - and opened the large front door heading out to his perfectly flawless front garden. He trotted down the little path and to the front fence, opening the gate when he reached the end.

He decided it might be nice to settle on the bench just around the corner from his house, which, in his opinion, was quite comfortable with attractive surroundings, where he could sit down and think and just enjoy his day.

But when he reached said bench, there seemed to be someone occupying it, and the person certainly was not someone Frank thought he would see. Actually, he did not think he was going to see anyone tonight. The neighbourhood was normally very quiet.

The boy on the bench looked a little older than Frank, with filthy hair and clothes, dirt covered cheeks and hands and legs and thin, scruffy, scuffed shoes. He looked quite a sight, and not a good one at that. And as Frank approached the bench, it became apparent that the boy smelt quite dirty as well. Yet, the rich boy still went to sit down, making sure to use his manners correctly when he acknowledged the poor boy as he placed himself on the other side of the seat. He was slightly weary of the consequences of being caught with a poor boy so kept an eye out for passers by.

"May I sit?" Frank said, gesturing as he sat.

"Yes, go ahead." Gerard said shyly but kindly - he was not intent on upsetting a person of such high class.

"Thank you." They sat in silence for a moment, not knowing what to say. Frank had never interacted with a person like Gerard, and Gerard had only ever had bad experiences with the rich, so both boys were unsure as to what they were to say next.

"What is your name?" Deciding to attempt a conversation, Frank turned slightly to face the other boy, taking in more of his rotten features.

"Gerard, what is yours?"

'What an odd name', Frank thought. He had never heard of any person with a name like that. Most men and boys he knew were called John or Peter or Sidney or Francis or some other name that sounds a bit like those. But he liked Gerard's name; he repeated it over a few times in his head, liking the way it sounded.

"My name is Frank Anthony Iero Junior."

"That's a long name. Is that what everyone calls you?"

Was it? Nobody had ever said anything about Frank having a long name, so he had never questioned it before. Compared to 'Gerard' however, it did sound long and maybe even a little odd. But most people had long names. Maybe Gerard was just a minor exception.

"Yes. Why, don't you have a long name?"

"Well, my full name is Gerard Arthur Way, but everyone just calls me Gerard."

"Oh, I see."

They sat once again in silence, though this silence was a comfortable one. Both boys seemed to just relax a smidge, now that they knew a bit about one another. And fairly soon they were talking again, wanting to know more about their opposite.

"Where do you live? You're awfully dirty, is there no bath where you live?"

"No, there isn't. I can't even remember the last time I had a bath." That explains the smell. "I live over that wall and down the road." He points over to where he means and Frank nods in reply. They discuss their lives for a little longer, until it was almost completely dark and only the streetlamps, lit by the local lamp-lighter, were there to light the boy's ways home.

"Well, I must be getting home." The rich boy rises from his seat and begins to walk toward his house. "Thank you for talking, I suppose."

"No problem." Gerard gets up too, so Frank assumed he was going home too. "Hey!" He called as Frank reached the corner. "Will you come back again?"

Frank stood quietly for a moment, considering the poor boy's question. Then he smiled softly. This was his chance to have a friend. He could talk to someone without having to be overly formal and he could talk about whatever he wanted! This is what he needed and he could finally have it.

"Yes, I will. At the same time tomorrow night."

"Sounds good to me." Gee grinned and waved as they both parted ways. He was excited for tomorrow - he could finally have a true friend, too. It seemed that both boys were actually more similar than the eye could see. Yet they were so separated, all by wealth and social status. Such a judgemental society they lived in, but it was all so normal to them. They had never known any different. So they both returned to their incredibly different homes to wait until the next night.

And, just between you and I, their friendship was set to flourish.


End file.
